


misconception of love

by Anonymous



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Obsessive Behavior, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It isn't love, but to Nino, it's something better.
Relationships: Matsumoto Jun/Ninomiya Kazunari
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Anonymous





	misconception of love

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [at the nape of your neck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/736301) by [kinoface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinoface/pseuds/kinoface). 



> Heed tags and make sure to read Kinoface's fic first as well. I'm going to pretend I never wrote this or thought of this.   
> Hopefully, one day, I'm gonna write something that judgemental people won't hate me for, LMAO. I wish I could write fluffy things.

It starts out innocently enough: a cute guy Nino had seen on TV, that slowly began to appear everywhere else, whether it be posters at the train station or his face on the covers of fashion magazines.

He avoids googling his name, avoids joining the conversations his female co-workers have about Jun's latest drama or scandal and opts to joke about them, choosing to watch whatever late-night flowery drama Jun's been casted in. Nino knew what idolising someone was like, knew what having a crush on an unattainable being was like.

But Jun… Jun was something he'd wanted desperately, something he wanted to be with, something he couldn't let fade away in wet dreams and fantasies. Eventually, when he accidentally finds out information about Jun's elementary school, it's like scratching an itch that's been bothering him for too long.

Google searches turn from seemingly innocent questions about Jun's favourite food to 2channel threads analysing possible choices of car brands that Jun currently drives. Hours that he would've normally spent playing games become hours he watches every variety show episode that features Jun, keeping an eye at the way Jun gesticulates, the amount of aizuchi he uses, the pattern of how he ends his sentences. Then, the names of every girl that's been assumed to be Jun's girlfriend, wife, call girl or whatever the headlines have to exaggerate about.

After all, it'd be a shame if he took Jun away from a pretty woman.

He finds ways to join the audience in variety shows, the hundreds of fangirls and fanboys that laugh and giggle and scream when it's appropriate. They raise an eyebrow at Nino, ask if he's got a lover he's coming along with, and Nino smiles brightly and says, "Something like that," as he accepts the guest badge that feels scalding against his fingertips. And while the host is reprimanding the other guests for making an unneeded comment about Jun, Nino feels his heart race and his fingers tremble from the plastic seat he's sitting on. Jun is only meters away, he thinks; he's so close yet so far.

One attempt becomes another. And another. Enough for Nino to try to look for himself in the crowd when he's watching the episodes for the third time, and finding himself in it most of the time, often tucked between two other fangirls who've dolled up for a chance at sharing even one single word with their idol. He does it enough times that some of the employees know him, that some of the employees take a jab and say things like, "Did your seating arrangements separate you and your girlfriend?" and Nino will only laugh, thinking of how far yet so close Jun is, the only distance between them from the set and the rows of chairs.

He wonders if Jun notices him, if he subtly glances at Nino right before the camera rolls. It entertains the thought that Jun would be aware of his existence, aware of who Nino is — but not who Nino really is, all while Nino's known every single detail about Jun that he's uncovered and found. Nino knows so much, knows what setting Jun keeps the air-conditioning in his room, knows how many centimetres the circumference of his chest is, and Jun doesn't know anything about him at all.

Nino's in the middle of watching a new episode of another variety show Jun's been invited to, one where Nino had managed to occupy a seat on the second row, rather than his usual fourth or fifth. The thrill had him wide-eyed, being just a few more inches closer to Jun than he was before. The host says something witty, something that makes the audience giggle which means Nino had to giggle, too. The camera pans off, far enough to include the audience and the floor directors and Jun.

And Nino sees himself. Perched on the seat with his knees tucked and his posture adjusted perfectly for the camera, for Jun, smiling along with all the other people in the crowd who won't ever amass as much obsession he holds towards the celebrity, the idol meters away from him. Then,  _ then _ — Jun looks over in his distance, the back of his head facing the camera, but Nino knows that Jun's facing him, looking in his direction.

He hadn't noticed that before.

*

It's only natural Nino succumbs. After all, if he's gotten past the point of not even feeling an once of guilt about intentionally visiting the every convenient store nearby a neighbourhood in Meguro — Jun's supposed residence, as of a month ago — just to catch a glance, a peek at Jun's life behind the cameras, beneath the charming smile he shows off for the thousands of fans he has.

One night, at 11:36PM, Nino finally gets lucky at a 7-Eleven; even with the puffy sportswear, the white mask and sports cap, Nino doesn't need to see his entire face to know whose brown eyes and thick eyebrows they belong to.

Jun heads towards the back, towards the section of refrigerated drinks and refreshments; Nino trails behind, though he stops at the bento boxes stacked neatly besides the masses of refrigerators, keeping his distance from Jun. After all, there were security cameras here.

He sees Jun grab three cans of beer, the same brand Nino drinks whenever his co-workers treat him, and the little connection they have makes his heart thump faster in his ribcage. Jun moves on into the junk food aisle; Nino quickly picks up a chicken karaage bento and speedwalks to the counter, and for once, he doesn't care about the money he throws onto the counter. By the time the employee hands him his change, Nino gets out of the convenience store and hides himself in a corner, secluded enough that he's sure he's out of the camera's sight.

Nino tries not to let his plastic bag crinkle as he watches Jun leave the convenience store. Exhilaration fills him, coats his bones and seeps into his mind. He was so, so close to Jun, close enough that if he'd reached out his arm, he could've made physical contact with Jun. Swallowing his adrenaline, Nino pries himself away from his hiding spot, pulls up his medical mask to conceal the lower half of his face.

The black, puffy windbreaker Jun is wearing helps him fade into the shadows that form on the street, against buildings, and when Nino blinks, Jun is gone.

He's surprised he isn't as irritated he thought he'd be, but maybe that's because he now has this knowledge, this piece of a puzzle that makes up Matsumoto Jun, that no other fangirl of his knows.

That night, he eats his karaage in satisfaction.

*

Nino would be an idiot if he didn't try his luck once more.

The second time he visits the same 7-Eleven avails nothing, but Nino blames it on the possibility Jun had been spending all sun hours recording. He persists through the third, the fourth, the fifth and finally, he runs into Jun again on the sixth attempt.

He buys himself a can of coffee, the kind Aiba-san claims tastes like engine fluid but Sho-san enjoys, but it doesn't matter; Jun's lined up right behind him, two umeboshi onigiris and two egg-lettuce-tomato sandwiches in his hand — and centimetres away from touching Nino.

That spurs on the seventh attempt, the eight, the ninth and so forth. Nino's careful enough not to let Jun recognise him or connect him to the lanky guy in the crowd, knowing fully well the consequences of such a grandiose thing. Every time, they're mere inches apart, a distance Nino could close with a side-step or a shift on the heels of his sneakers.

Then, it's not enough anymore. That small gap, those tiny millimetres, they don't satiate Nino anymore. The metres gap they had from the set and audience seats wasn't enough, and now the centimetres wasn't. He needed more, he wanted more, he deserved more —

It's only logical his desperation gets him low enough to shell out his money for a plan.

*

The fact Matsumoto Jun is on the floor, in his apartment, closer than he has ever been to Nino, takes Nino's breath away.

After Nino manages to peel himself away from Jun to disinfect his wound, Jun starts crying more audibly. He watches from the bathroom door as Jun sniffles and whimpers behind the gag, and Nino belatedly remembers one of Jun's co-stars from his first ever drama appearance calling him a crybaby, but that had been years ago. When Nino comes back, he moves his cushion nearby Jun and plops himself down.

"Don't cry, Jun-kun," Nino coos, using his thumb to wipe away tears. Jun's long eyelashes flutter and his chest spikes up in a hitch of a breath, and Nino thinks: this is better than limited copies of Jun's An-an shoots, better than watching him on the stage.

He drags his thumb up the side of Jun's face — indulging himself in the way Jun's shoulders tense — up to his hairline. Jun's hair has gotten a little damp from sweat, and that makes Nino purse his lips in thought. Stripping Jun wouldn't be easy, but the idea of having Jun's body for his eyes only overrules his hesitance.

Nino doesn't particularly feel like having the tape peel apart from the water, though, not after his hard attempt at gagging Jun. He looks back down at Jun, taking in all the details he's already known long ago once more: the beauty marks that match Nino's own, the muscles of Jun's arms and the way they seem to make his t-shirt cling to his body, the lithe fingers longer than Nino's own.

He'd thought about Jun's lips and the way they'd look perfect stretched around his cock too, but Nino supposes that possibility is out of the question now that he knows Jun's a fighter. Nino huffs and laughs to himself, then laughs louder when Jun's eyes snap towards him, fear visible in his eyes.

"If you promise to be good, I can feed you and bathe you later," Nino tells him, an offer. "Will you be good for me? Will you promise not to bite me once more when I feed you?"

Jun's glares at him, and Nino knows Jun's trying to think of how to escape, how to leave, how to take advantage of his choices.

What he doesn't know is Nino's prepared, too. He's been waiting too damn long to let a chance like this slip through his grasp.

Nino runs his hands through Jun's hair, then tugs at it lightly, just enough for Jun to cry out in pain. He repeats himself, this time more stern: "Will you? Will you be good for me?"

Eyes wide, Jun nods furiously, speaking nothing but muffled whines and pleas. There's most likely a, "Yes, yes, I'll be good, please," somewhere in there, but Nino doesn't really mind whether or not he hears it vocally or not now.

He smiles, uses Jun's hair to keep his head down and leans down to press a kiss on both of Jun's eyelids. As expected, Jun tries to twist his head away from Nino's lips, Nino shushes him, presses his free palm against Jun's chest and kisses the corners of his eyes this time.

"Good boy," Nino praises, satisfied.

After all, they have all the time in the world for Nino to hear every sound Jun can make.

*

As much as adrenaline can make Nino do stupid things, there's not enough in him to gain the super strength he needs to carry Jun all the way to his bed. So Nino compromises, drags the pillows from his bed and places them beneath Jun's head and uses his spare cushions as a makeshift futon for Jun's body.

By this point, Jun's stopped crying and just stays put, pliant. Occasionally, Nino'll hear him try to tug at the zip ties, or groan behind the tape, but it's quite clear Jun's exerted most of his energy.

Nino can't resist how pretty Jun looks with his eyes half-lidded and his ears bright red. He reaches forwards, resting his hand against one side of the bone that juts out of Jun's hips; it makes Jun twitch, eyes widening once more, but all he manages to do is buck his hips away and shout something.

That doesn't stop Nino, though. He continues moving his hand inch by inch, trailing pale skin, then hikes Jun's shirt up as far as it'll go, tucking the hem into the collar to keep it in place.

He licks his lips at the sight of Jun's stomach, Jun's nipples, Jun's pointed waist — it's almost too good to be true.

Jun shouts what seems to be curses, trying to roll away from Nino, but Nino just clambers over and straddles Jun's body to keep him in place. He's not going to let anything get in between him and the body he's longed to touch, to taste, to see for so fucking long.

"Be a good boy," Nino says, sprawling his fingers against Jun's chest and feeling firm muscle.

There's a mole right next to one of Jun's nipples, one that Nino's been wondering of how it would look in person. He trails his finger from Jun's navel, slowly, slowly rising up to Jun's left nipple and traces a circle right around the edges, before thumbing at the bud.

Nino doesn't expect for Jun to moan. Or, well, make a noise that sounds like a moan. He finds himself smiling, satisfied, amused.

"I'll take care of you, Jun-kun," Nino promises, his voice saccharine sweet. He brings his other hand up to cup Jun's face.

Jun cries out behind the tape once more.


End file.
